


Coffee, Doughnuts, True Love

by stuckinastory



Series: Drinking and Eating Their Way To Love [2]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, LJ to AO3, Oldfic, again from 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23263546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckinastory/pseuds/stuckinastory
Summary: Miranda and Andy's relationship progresses. On an ordinary Saturday morning, a quiet moment at the Priestly townhouse is disrupted by a ghost from exes past.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Series: Drinking and Eating Their Way To Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672732
Comments: 1
Kudos: 86





	Coffee, Doughnuts, True Love

“Is your mom home?”

I look up from the newspaper I’m reading, and my ears are drawn to that melodious, cheery voice outside my door. Her voice flutters into my living room like a butterfly floating freely on a summer day—fuck, when have I started sounding so trite?—and seconds later, Cassidy’s footsteps reach the door of the study, and I find myself looking at her quizzically. She waves awkwardly, and walks into the room.

“Mom, your former assistant’s here.”

“Which one?” I ask, and Cassidy bites back a smirk. I give her a grin.

“Andy.” She then waits a beat, and adds, “Caroline’s longing for the donuts she brought.”

“Andrea brought donuts?” Not that the girls have some kind of diet, or anything, contrary to popular belief, but donuts are nowhere to be found on the food pyramid. And they’re all sugar and icing and bread. Oh Lord. If they were from Krispy Kreme, even I couldn’t stop Caroline from eating them. Which of course, explains the concerned look on my other daughter’s face. Caroline _loves_ Krispy Kreme.

“Yeah. Krispy Kreme.” Cassidy announces gravely. “Mom, I’m hearing the theme from _Jaws_.”

I laugh wholeheartedly, and Cassidy laughs too. I wish we laughed more often. Maybe I wouldn’t be so stuck up as I think I am as a mother. Maybe they wouldn’t feel as awkward as I think they are as my children. There is much to be desired in this household, which includes my own personal…needs. Anyway, Cassidy now looks at me with a wide grin, and I give her a softer version of mine. I dropped my newspaper in lieu of meeting my lover and seeing at the impossibly wide grin on Caroline’s face.

It has been three months since Andrea and I first got together, and while the girls had taken a few weeks to get used to the idea, they warmed up to Andrea instantly. It surprised me, it did Andrea too, considering the nature of her last, um, job. Within a few weeks after meeting her, we went out to dinners, parties, and school events, and even held a regular movie night at the townhouse. It was unsettling, exciting even, to watch my little family become more tight-knit. I guess all three of us were much too used to silence and awkwardness and petty questions, that we never really knew what we missed until… her.

“Good morning, Miranda.” She says, and she leans towards me for a quick kiss to the cheek. I receive it, of course, and then eye the Krispy Kreme box warily. She notices my wary stare and smiles sheepishly, and right there and then, I find my heart warming up and falling more in love with her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in my entire life. “Thought I’d bring something for breakfast.”

True enough, Caroline is standing by her side, eyeing the box, and giving a wide, wide grin. Cassidy and I resist the urge to laugh; instead, she smirks slightly and I try to act nonchalantly.

“You brought donuts.”

“Is that okay?” Andrea asks cautiously. It is so irrefutably cute.

“Mom, can we have them? Please? Just this once, for breakfast, I promise.” Caroline asks. She sounds like a five year-old, and on that note, Cassidy grins wider. Andrea looks hopeful. “Andy brought the blueberry cheesecake one. I’m going to run everyday after school, I promise. Please?”

“Of course, bobsie. Let’s have some donuts.” Andrea and Caroline immediately run to the kitchen. Cassidy trails behind them, and I find myself wondering when I’ve started using the word ‘cute’.

By the time I get to the kitchen, Andrea has already set the table, and Caroline and Cassidy are having their breakfast. Caroline looks up from her doughnut and smiles widely at me, adding two thumbs up, and I smile back. Cassidy shakes her head at me, but smiles anyway. Andrea has been content to watch the interaction, and as she pours me a cup of coffee, she gives me the warmest smile I’ve ever seen. I sit next to Caroline, and she gives me a hug, while trying to feed me a bite of her donut.

“You’re the best, Mom.” Caroline says, and her words shock me. ‘Best’ and ‘Mom’ aren’t the words I’d attach to myself, truth be told. I try not to show my shock, and for the most part, I’m successful.

“You’re overdoing it, Caroline.” Cassidy says, but then she laughs, so Caroline laughs as well. She then turns to Andrea, who’s now getting a donut. “We’ve never had a Krispy Kreme breakfast.”

“Oh.” Andrea looks pensive, and adds, “Well, I’d never take you for the type, anyway.”

“The type of what?” Cassidy asks.

“You know…” Andrea replies. “The type of family who’d have a Krispy Kreme breakfast.”

Cassidy chuckles indulgently and shakes her head. “Right.”

“Because of Mom’s work, I presume?” Caroline then asks, and Andrea nods shyly. “Thought so.”

All three of them give me apologetic, hopeful, and bashful smiles. I raised an eyebrow.

“Mom, Dad’s here!” Caroline calls out, and she and Cassidy scramble up the stairs, despite my warning, to the study, where Andrea is relaxing on the couch and where I am reading a book. My girls are wearing identically-designed blouses in their favorite colors that they love to swap so they can confuse people more. It doesn’t work on me, Charles, or Andrea.

It made Emily cry once, three years ago. The twins have a long-standing tradition of pranking every assistant who delivers the Book to the house for the first time. The prank is the same: Get them to go upstairs. Emily resisted the urge, but confused herself in addressing the twins in the process. It did not help that she came from an afternoon of general sorting and cleaning in The Closet with Nigel and a then-inept Serena. 

Caroline’s is navy blue, Cassidy’s is pink. The two of them look absolutely adorable.

Andrea sits up on the couch and looks at me. Her eyes, wide and shining, have questions.

“Tell your father I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”

She thinks I don’t know. By now, her back is ramrod straight, like a soldier in attention. Her mind races through a million thoughts. She wants to leave. She doesn’t want complications. She doesn’t want a fight. She’ll come later, if needed. She knows I have had three difficult divorces. She’s scared. She’s confused. She’s _wondering_. She wonders if I’ll make her stay. If I’ll ask her to leave. If she’s supposed to hide in a room, pretending she’s not there and that I don’t matter to her. She thinks about what to do next.

And in a matter of seconds, Andrea asks a question.

“Should I leave? I don’t want to bother you if it’s a family thing.”

“Don’t be silly. You shouldn’t leave.”

Andrea is more of a parent to the girls than Charles will ever be, but of course everyone chooses to focus on the 10-hour working mother, who should be staying at home, tending to her children. Bullshit.

“Miranda,” She begins, and already I’m holding up a hand. Not to be rude, but Andrea’s insecurities really get in the way of a lot of things. And I have sole custody, so I choose who stays.

“I wasn’t expecting Charles.”

“I see.” She sighs. “So?”

“The girls saw him two months ago. We haven’t heard from him since then.”

Andrea watches me as I crinkle my nose in disgust and annoyance. How could you not return your children’s calls? What kind of monster lets their children go to voicemail? People don’t give me much credit for this, but I have a heart too. It never looks that way, and my children know better than what they read on the papers, but they’re my number one priority. No one gets in the way of my children.

“He wants to see them now.” Andrea says, plainly, for someone who adores my girls.

“I’m sure.”

She then walks over to me, wraps her arms around my neck, and puts her head on my shoulder. We stay like that for a few moments, blocking out everything else in the world except for the two of us, and then she kisses me on the cheek. Just like every kiss, it makes me swoon. It makes me fall deeper.

“He’s going to get the shock of his life.”

“He’s an adult.”

I’ve said that too strongly for Andrea’s taste, and it gets to her. She winces visibly.

She then pulls away, and tugs on my hand. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

“Andrea,” The little twit says, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I look over at her and she smiles, pleased with the comment. She reaches for his hand and shakes it a few times, as the twins look on curiously. They probably expected a fight. Sorry to disappoint, girls. Caroline widens her eyes at me and I wonder how I look. Strained? Pleased? Affronted? Cassidy decides that the floor is more interesting than the current exchange, and so she plays with her shoes.

Charles then turns to me and knows better than to extend his hand. On a good day, I might cut it off. Now I feel like slicing it with a chainsaw, pouring gasoline on it, and burning it thoroughly. “Charles.”

“Miranda.” He says, and he pauses meaningfully. Say something. “I’m sorry…”

“Not in front of the girls,” I reply, and try to soften it for Andrea’s benefit. “That I will not tolerate.”

Andrea springs into action, muttering gibberish about checking out if they still left donuts in the refrigerator—the box was already in the trash can—and the girls follow suit, walking with her to the dining room. They bring their luggage with them. I watch as Charles’ eyes roam over to Andrea, following her ass, and at this moment I want nothing more than to punch his face and send him out of the townhouse.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see my children.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I have every right.”

“And fulfilled no responsibility whatsoever. No.”

“Miranda, don’t make this harder than it should be.”

“It is already difficult, for you.” I pause. “And you’re making it difficult for _my_ children.”

“This is absurd. I am a responsible father. And they’re _our_ children.”

“What’s absurd is you calling yourself a responsible father.”

“I called.”

“Two days ago. After the children have been waiting for a call for two months. You are not some jet-setting photographer. You are a lawyer based in the same state your kids live in.” I say, raising my voice slightly. His forehead crinkles and he shakes his head. “What I will never tolerate, Charles, is making promises you can’t keep. While you’ve done that with our marriage, don’t even think about doing that to my children.” His forehead lets drops of sweat fall as I pause. “There’s a reason for sole custody.”

“I promise you, Miranda, I didn’t mean to. It’s just that work piled up, and…”

“And what?” He sighs. I get pissed off even more. “One, work isn’t meant to pile up. Two, your line of reasoning is unbecoming of a lawyer, and three, you know which one should’ve come first.”

“Like you never put your work before the children. Come on. This is insane.” He scoffs. "You are in no position to lecture me. Who do you think you are, Saint Miranda?"

Something beckons me to look behind me. When I do, I see Andrea, and her eyes are worried. She has lines around them, lines I want to kiss off and never see again. Charles and I stop talking.

Andrea excuses me and herself, takes me to the living room, and closes the door. She pulls me into a tight embrace, and as I wrap my arms around her waist, she kisses me on my forehead. Outside, it is a wonderful evening, and the moon is shining down on all of New York as stars twinkle shyly.

“Breathe.” And I do so, in and out, until I feel like myself again. “That’s better.”

“Caroline and Cassidy say you’re being too calm for this.” She says, and offers a shy smile. “Clearly, your children want a spectacular display of fireworks.” I raise my eyebrow at the comment, and she grins slyly. “And, they’ve just decided that they’d see their father when they wanted to. So…?”

After she stopped talking, we heard the girls talking with their father outside.

“Dad, we really expected you to call us.” Caroline said, sighing audibly. “You didn’t.”

“Girls, Daddy was busy, and you know how my work is…”

Did he really expect that excuse to work with teenage girls?

“You know, you can’t just come in here when you want to.” Cassidy replied. I gasp at the tone of her voice. While I have been disrespectful to Charles, the girls have been taught well. They would never. Our relationship may have disintegrated but I would never tolerate such language. 

“Cassidy,” Caroline and Charles say. So does Andrea. She practically breathes it out.

“No, I’m not done talking.” Cassidy continues. “People write horrible lies about how Mom isn’t a good mother and a good wife, all of that crap, without considering how we feel or doing any kind of meaningful research, and they all glorify you as some hero, serving justice to the masses and being a ‘good man’ and a ‘good citizen’. What people miss, _Dad_ , is how you work more hours than Mom and just see us on a whim. You missed my recital, the spring musical, and Caroline’s soccer games. You didn’t call, when we were expecting you two months ago. Why are you visiting now?”

There is silence outside of the living room. Andrea seemed poised to clap at the monologue.

“Why do you want to see us now?” Cassidy asked, her tone more furious. “Are you running for mayor, again? You need some good publicity to push you along? Caroline and I are _not going_.”

“Cassidy Anne Priestly-Hartford, I will not be talked to that way.” Charles retorted.

“Cass, you’re talking to Dad!” Caroline adds, alarmed.

“I don’t care! As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been out of our lives and you’ve made no indication whatsoever that you plan to be in it.” Miranda flew the door open, and Cassidy immediately stopped.

“Miranda, is this what you been teaching the children? Disrespect for elders?” Charles asked. Miranda could see the sneer in his eyes, how he knew this would propel him to greater heights. “I’ll have the courts know how you’ve raised _our_ children, and then they’ll _finally_ see where they made a mistake!”

“Don’t you dare!” Caroline suddenly shouted, shocking all of them.

“Caroline,” Miranda warned, and Cassidy actually tugged on her hand.

“No!” Caroline replied, as Charles moved a step back. “I’ve had it up to here with you, Dad. I’m trying to see where you’re coming from. I’ve been patient and nice and obedient. But you do not have the moral high ground here. You cheated on my mother with your secretary. You left us for her. You humiliated all of us. Mama has done nothing but try and make progress. And she’s been succeeding.”

“Caroline,” Miranda let out weakly. She felt like she was half a step away from fainting.

“That’s no different from your mother fucking her former assistant.” Charles muttered plainly. He then turned to Miranda. “So, what now, are you actually hitting on people you know you can keep?”

Miranda walked towards her ex-husband and gave Charles a stinging slap.

“You do not speak of Andrea in that manner,” Miranda said sharply. “You will not trivialize it. You do not know any details. You do not know my life. Our life. My children will stay with me, and I will make sure that every court, be it here, in Paris, or even in Peoria, will recognize me as their sole guardian. Get out of my house.”

Charles opened the door and Miranda felt her heart quicken its beats. “I’ll see you in court!” He then slammed the door, and as Andy and the girls watched, he jumped into his car and drove away.

Miranda watched as Andrea opened her arms and the twins immediately ran to her. She took a deep breath as she heard soft, quivering sobs from both the girls. Andy looked at her briefly, asking for permission, and she nodded as the three of them climbed up the stairs. Fifteen minutes later, when she went up the staircase to check on the girls, the two of them were sharing a bed and napping.

It has been three months since Andrea and I have gotten together. The sun is shining brightly outside, and the flowers in the garden are in full bloom. This morning, I am leaning on Andrea’s shoulder, as the girls sleep a few doors away, rest trying to make them forget about yesterday’s events. Andrea reads a book, an arm wrapped securely around my waist. I know she has much to say, but for now she keeps to herself, busying herself with a collection of poems that she found in my study last night. She read to me until I fell asleep, but I never really did until I felt her arms around me, holding me close.

Sometimes, when I’m alone, in the car, or in my office, I find myself wondering if Andrea truly loves me. It’s a silly thought, actually, considering I’m not exactly demonstrative—she should be the one worrying. But I’ve been young before. I know how flighty and indecisive younger people can be. I know that at my age, I wanted someone to share the big things with. Would Andrea want the same? Someone who would buy a first house with her, someone she could marry for the first and only time, someone to have a child with. All of these firsts, I'd done long before she came into my life. 

I guess, though, this also teaches me how much I know about love.

Andrea knows how to love. To love me, at least. And to love my children. She has an open mind, she has a warm heart, and she’s unflinchingly generous. Within the space of a little over a year, she’s taught me to care for someone without ever fearing the consequences. I wonder what I can offer her—me, a single, middle-aged mother with a reputation for being difficult. I wonder if I can keep her.

Apropos of nothing, Andrea speaks. Softly. Tenderly. Reassuringly. I lean into her further, and her arm wraps around my waist, tighter than it was a few moments ago. I listen to her voice. The softness of her voice belies the strength it projects. As it speaks, it gives me peace. It gives me joy. It gives me hope.

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._

_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_

_My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_

_For the ends of Being and ideal Grace._

_I love thee to the level of everyday's_

_Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light._

_I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;_

_I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise._

_I love thee with a passion put to use_

_In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith._

_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_

_With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,_

_Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,_

_I shall but love thee better after death._

When she finishes, she turns to me and smiles shyly, as the sunlight makes her skin glisten, makes her ethereal. I kiss her, and at that moment, I am sure—this is true love, and this is happiness.


End file.
